


Headed Straight For The Castle

by BelleWrites (sunleyemrys)



Series: A Hawke and Her Wolf [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Blood, Lyrium Tattoos, Near Death, Post-Arishok Fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-28 18:07:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15054821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunleyemrys/pseuds/BelleWrites
Summary: Days after the Arishok battle, Marian is at a party celebrating Kirkwall's favorite mage. Shit goes sideways. I recommend you read "Wicked Game", "I Remember Everything" and "Make It Rain" after this, because seriously, Marian and Fenris's relationship is so weird.





	Headed Straight For The Castle

Her everything ached, as it should. A mage wasn’t meant to stand toe to toe against a seven-foot-tall beast. Now the city that use to vilify her was throwing gifts and platitudes at her feet. It made Marian uncomfortable, and that wasn’t just the overly tight bandages holding her torso together or the ill-fitting dress she had been forced to wear. She didn’t want to be in the throne room, the only mage in a room full of templars, especially not when the Knight-Commander kept sneering at her.

The little gold and silver circlet sat heavily in her short hair, a crown for Kirkwall’s mage-princess. The dress was itchy, one of Aveline’s, the only thing that would hide the wounds, it clashed with her skin, a vain effort to hide the pallor in her skin from almost dying.  She was tired of standing, tired of smiling, tired of playing nice. Tired of being the poster child for a movement she didn’t agree with, didn’t agree with the talk of electing her Viscountess, didn’t agree with the coin being spent on a lavish party when it should be spent to rebuild the city.

Kirkwall had burned due to the greed of one of her closest friends, a betrayal she wasn’t sure how to feel about. Aveline assures her she should be on cloud nine, but instead, the victory feels hollow. Like she doesn’t deserve any of it. Not the estate, the praise and certainly not the title. The Champion of Kirkwall. It felt like a lie. It was all empty praise. They were rising her up to be an example to the mages, “look at how you can be better.” Hiding all of her flaws, the sins. The deaths that surrounded her.

A meek Templar recruit had given her a speech, something very polite, thanking Andraste for strength and promises to aid the city in the future. It was all so very, polite. And not her. None of her friends had been invited to this little ceremony. Even the Guard-Captain has been excluded, she wasn’t a noble. Marian felt alone, in a room of people cheering her name, she was alone.

She wanted to go home. Home to her empty estate, the halls echoing as she waited for the ghosts to fill it. Away from this place. A voice finally pulled her from her spiralling thoughts. “What was that magic you used that filled this room with a thunderstorm? So impressive from someone who wasn’t Circle trained.”

Marian scowled slightly, a dig at her lack of formal magical education. The Knight-Commander cleared her throat, a warning to watch what she said. “The spell is called Tempest, it uses ambient static in the area to create the lightning. Its from the Primal school.”

The nobles gave polite oohs and ahhs, shifting slightly in their seats, the only magic any of them had ever seen was Healing spells. Meredith’s face pinched in tight anger, she had answered wrong. Of course, she had, at this rate Templars would raid her home within a week.

The potion to deal with her pain was fading, and with it, her patience for making nice. A drunken noble stumbled into her shoulder, causing a hiss of pain, she felt a stitch pop, blood beginning to seep. She pushed the man away with a curse, more stitches popping. Marian pressed a hand against her stomach, feeling dampness spread. “I’m going now. You’ve all thanked me, and I need to have my wounds treated again.” And I hate all of you, she added silently as she took uneasy steps out of the throne room, murmurs following her as blood soaked the dress.

Just need to make it to barracks, hundred and eleven steps to Aveline’s office, she could make it. One set of doors to leave the room, summoning her Rock Armor to press against the wound, to staunch the flow. Twenty steps to the next set of doors. Through those, a shaking breath, thirty to final set. She braced herself on a wall, leaving a red smear behind. These doors seemed heavier than she remembered, but Marian pushed through them, shambling forward, her Champion circlet sliding from her sweat plastered hair, bouncing as it hit the stone floor. Tink, tink, tink, as it rolled down the steps. A left turn, she could do it, her foot caught the hem of her dress. She fell with a solid thump, feeling the stitches in her back tear.

Voices, she could hear voices, maybe they sounded familiar. She was so tired, sleep seemed like a good idea. A scrape as someone found the circle of metal, a questioning sound. Marian was trying to make a sound, but it was so hard to lift her head.

A shout, rapid footsteps, the smell of cheap wine and lyrium and leather. What was it Anders had said about bleeding to death? You just drift off to a dream? This was a good dream, at least. Warm hands on her face, calluses against her cheeks, a rough voice saying her name. Oh, it was this dream again. She didn’t mind if this was her last thought.

A cold vial pressed against her lips, hands tipping her head back, the liquid burned and was like ice. Her mind began to clear slightly. “Hawke? Hawke? Open your eyes.” She struggled to do as she was told, green eyes coming into focus. “Marian.” Whispered, reverent, a prayer.

“This is a good vision to die to. Good bye my sweet broody warrior.” Her words slurred as her eyes closed again, he gripped her tighter, refusing to let her slip into death yet again. Her dream lifted her, holding her close, and her dream ran, an aura of blue around them. She was cold, but warm against him.

They stopped, twin yellow orbs glowing, the door splintered as her dream roared. “Fix her! She’s dying! You promised she would heal! If she dies, you and that demon die.” Her dream was threatening Anders, a valiant effort to save her life. It was like a fairy tale, she was too drowsy to smile, fingers twitching slightly.

“On the table and grab the trunk over there. You love her, right? Would do anything to save her life? Cause I don’t have time to make potions, I’m going to use your lyrium to heal her.” Oh no, that would hurt her dream! She tried to shake her head, to protest. Not his brands, they hurt just being touched, using them to power spells would be agony.

Her dream sat on the table, resting her head in his lap. “Do what you must.”

The air filled with magic and her dream screamed, the wood of the table cracking in his grip. He filled her, his own special magic, she knew the difference, could feel herself healing. The spell broke in a shower of sparks, her dream slumped forward, chest heaving, sweat running down his face onto hers.

Slowly, Marian felt steadier, she opened her eyes to Fenris’s twisted in pain face hidden behind white hair. He was trying to curl in on himself, flashes of memories taking him somewhere else. “Fenris?” She tried to move from his lap, but hands stopped her.

“Don’t move yet. You lost a lot of blood. Just, wait.” Anders held her wrist. “We didn’t have any time. It was use them, or have you die.”

“Oh Fenris.” She reached up to touch his face, to try and ease the memories. He made a sound like an animal, a snarl as he scuttled back, falling off the table, curling up under it, sobbing. “Anders? Help me up.” The Healer helped her from the table, easing her to the floor. “Give us some time?” Whiskey-gold eyes nodded, leaving the dingy clinic with a soft click of a latch.

He was huddled, pressed against the wall, eyes wide, tears falling freely. Smoke shimmered around his body, a testament to how much magic had been pulled through them. “You saved my life. Fenris, how do I thank you?”

A string of Tevene greeted her, she caught the word “Domina”, Mistress. He was trapped in a memory, a bad one. “Fen, Fenris. No. You are not a slave, you are a free man. Please, come back to me. A Hawke needs her Wolf.”


End file.
